


Back in the Cassock

by epeeblade



Series: The Thorn Hawk [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, RPF - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), church rpf
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brazil, M/M, Priest, Religious Imagery, damsel!Phil, fictionalization of real events, going to hell for this one, pope, priest!Clint, the pope as a fictional character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1591718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeeblade/pseuds/epeeblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four months after he returned from Rome, Clint Barton has taken a leave from the priesthood. Nick Fury enters his life, asking him to help rescue Phil. The price is getting back in the cassock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I didn't mean to leave everyone hanging for so long after the second fic. This just ended up being a lot longer than I expected.
> 
> Much thanks to Lapillus for the beta.
> 
> Once again, a warning for those who are sensitive to religious imagery. I'm using the real events of July 2013 (when Pope Francis traveled to Brazil for world youth day), but in a fictionalized context. I don't pretend to know the mind of the Pope and his appearance here is completely fictionalized. 
> 
> Also, the title is a bit more frivolous than the previous two fics. All I could think of was the movie Sister Act and its sequel (Back in the Habit), so thus, this was born. (Sidenote: they showed us Sister Act in my Catholic grade school, but they only started the movie once she got to the convent. It was years before I found out what happened in the first 15 minutes of the movie...)
> 
> And if you've stuck with these notes this long, thank you:) I also ask that any notes about spelling/grammar come to me privately, at epeeblade at gmail.com.

Nick Fury didn’t like being told ‘no.’ At this point in his career, there were only three people who dared say no to his face. The agent sitting in front of him, Jasper Sitwell, was not one of those three people. Except for today.

“Are you telling me that you cannot get an agent past a bunch of priests? Last I checked, highly developed surveillance skills were not a requirement for men of the cloth!”

Sitwell squirmed in his chair. He looked like he wanted to get up, but Fury had told him to sit, and at least the man was good for following orders. “It’s just that, sir, none of our field agents has this skill set. Send them undercover in a sex club? Sure. Slap a dog collar on them and pretend to be a priest? Not something we train for.”

“Coulson could have done it.” Fury opened his drawer and took out his secret stash of whiskey and one glass. Sitwell didn’t deserve any. 

“That’s the problem, sir. We need the one man to do the job to rescue the one man who can do that job.”

Fury stared at the amber glow of the whiskey. A thought had occurred to him, but he didn’t know if he dared. “So if we can’t get an agent to pretend to be a priest...can we get a priest to pretend to be an agent?”

“Sir.” 

Fury pushed the glass in Sitwell’s direction. He needed to be sober for this. “Finish that. No use letting it go to waste.” 

“Sir, where are you going?”

“To recruit the one man who can rescue Phil Coulson.”


	2. Part 1

Clint wielded the broom like a fellow dancer as they both skimmed across the green linoleum floor. The radio blared in the background playing his typical cleanup music. Much as he enjoyed the kids being here all day, he also appreciated these moments to himself. Stark did pay for an actual cleaning crew to come in, but Clint liked to take a little ownership of the youth center. 

This place had been his home for the past four months, ever since he’d returned from Rome and taken a leave of absence from the priesthood. The Youth Center, though nominally attached to the church where Clint used to be assigned, had been set up as part of the Stark Foundation. So Clint got paid for his work here, as well as a place to stay in the apartment above. 

Since he’d returned from Rome his life had been in a holding pattern. Clint had left with a mission, ready to explore whatever this was between him and Phil and somehow find a way to serve God as well. But Phil still hadn’t returned any of his calls, and though Clint refused to believe the worst, it was looking more bleak every day. 

Clint swept up the rest of the dirt into a neat pile before going to grab the dustpan. A shadow at the front door had him clenching the broom tightly between his fingers. If it was a kid who needed help, he wouldn’t have a problem unlocking the door. However, you couldn’t be too careful in this neighborhood.

“We’re closed.” 

“May I have a moment of your time, Father Barton?” The voice on the other side was deep and rich, not one of his kids. Clint still couldn’t see more than the outline of the man who stood outside.

Clint twisted the lock. If someone was calling him Father then they must have been sent from the church. “Can I help you?”

The stranger walked in, and he certainly didn’t look like he needed anything from Clint. He wore a long black trench coat that flowed behind him and an eyepatch over the scarred remains of half of his face. “I certainly hope so. I’m Nick Fury.”

It took Clint a moment. He gripped the broom hard to keep himself from sinking to the ground. “Phil’s Nick? Then something’s happened to him.”

He’d been hoping for news for so long. Clint just never expected it to come like this.

“That’s the question I’m looking to answer.” Fury strolled around the room, running a gloved hand on the craft table, and picking up the book Clint had left opened on the counter. 

The Monsignor had given Clint a copy of Thomas Merton’s biography, and it wasn’t until Clint had gotten to the chapter about Merton’s chaste love affair that he’d understood why.

Right now he couldn’t stand to see it in the other man’s hands. Clint took the book from him and snapped it closed. He noted the way Fury’s narrowed at the action, and the way he inclined his head. It was almost as if he were looking at Clint with respect. 

“What do you mean?” Clint hugged the book to his chest.  
“How much do you know about what Phil did?” Fury pinned him with that single eye.

“I know his work was important, that he saved people.” Clint knew Phil believed in what he did, and he respected that, even if he didn’t always understand it. 

“Maybe the world,” Fury murmured so low Clint barely heard it. “Father Barton, I’d like to offer you an opportunity to save Phil.”

“Mister Barton,” Clint corrected. “I’m on leave from the priesthood.”

“But you still are a priest, correct? You can’t just quit vows.”

Clint’s hackles went up. He’d had enough of people assuming crap about him. “I believe that’s none of your business.”

“If you want to help Phil Coulson, that it’s precisely my business.” Fury took a deep breath. “Four months ago, Coulson went to Brazil to investigate what we thought were arms dealers. Turned out things got a bit more complicated than that. Unfortunately SHIELD can’t be seen entering the country for political reasons.”

“So what does that have to do with me?”

“Do you know what’s in two weeks? World Youth Day. And you know who’s gonna be there? The Pope.”

Clint took a few steps back. Pope Francis was turning into an outstanding figure. Despite his leave, Clint couldn’t help watching, fascinated, as the pope drew crowds to him. It made him feel odd, as if connected and disconnected to his old life at the same time.

“I have a really bad feeling about what you’re going to say next.”

Fury chuckled. “They won’t let us put an agent in the Pope’s entourage - unless he’s a priest.”

“I’m not an agent.”

“Trust me. It’s easier to turn you into an agent than one of my people into a Catholic priest in two weeks.”

Clint opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. Could he do this? More importantly, did he want to do this? Phil was in trouble, and Clint could not leave him, not when he could help. “All right. When do we start?”

The smile on Fury’s face was more frightening than the scowl. Clint even took a step backward. “I’ll expect to see you at SHIELD headquarters tomorrow at 6AM. Don’t worry, a car will be by to pick you up.”

Then, with a whip of his trench coat, Fury was gone, leaving Clint staring at the open door and wondering if he had been there at all.

***

A sleek black SUV pulled up in front of the Youth Center at a quarter to six. Clint got into the back seat and said, “You sure are optimistic about getting through traffic.”

The driver - a bald guy with glasses - turned to look at Clint. “Traffic’s no big deal when your cars can fly.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Maybe.” The guy smiled. “Jasper Sitwell.”

“Clint Barton.” Clint shook his hand. So this was Jasper. It was good to put another face to a name, but Clint couldn’t exactly see the jokester Phil make him out to be. “You’re the one that got Phil the paper clip tie.”

Sitwell laughed. “It’s an inside joke.” He narrowed his eyes and looked Clint up and down. Clint wondered if he should have dressed better than a t-shirt and jeans. “What else did Phil share with you?”

“Nothing classified, probably.” Clint buckled himself in.

Good thing too, because Sitwell took off at a clip that should not have been possible. “Thought you’d be wearing the dog collar.”

“The what...Oh.” Clint let out a laugh. “You know I’m a priest? Never mind, of course you do. You’re part of this...scheme?”

“Mission,” Sitwell corrected. He had his hands on ten and two, perfectly correct, which was good because otherwise he was driving like a crazy person. “And Phil used to talk about you.”

Clint felt his cheeks burning. He swallowed. “I’ll do everything I can to bring him home.”

They pulled into an underground garage, which involved three security checkpoints just to get to the parking spot. Clint wasn’t exactly impressed - it was all concrete and dark, nothing awe inspiring - until they got off the first elevator. 

“We have to stop and get you a visitor’s pass…”

Clint wasn’t listening to Sitwell. He was too busy marvelling over the tall glass windows of the lobby, the way the sunlight poured in. It was reminiscent of a Cathedral somehow, majestic and noble. It sparked something in his heart, a flare of faith he hadn’t felt in forever. Maybe he was on the right path here.

Clint got his new badge and followed Sitwell to yet another elevator. He didn’t miss the looks the people they passed shot him. Just how much of Clint’s reputation preceded him? And was it from Phil’s story telling, or just the rumor mill about a priest visiting headquarters?

Fury was waiting for them in an office more fitting to a CEO than a badass director of, whatever the hell SHIELD was anyway. Clint still wasn’t entirely clear about that.

Sitwell stood by the door while Clint ventured further into the office, marveling at the floor to ceiling glass windows and dark faux wood desk. He noticed Fury didn’t have anything personal on that desk. Was that frowned upon at SHIELD, or calculated by Fury? From what he knew of the man, Clint bet the latter. 

“Glad to see you made it, Father Barton.” Fury got to his feet. He didn’t look any less scary in daylight than during the previous evening. Perhaps it was the eyepatch.

“Despite Sitwell’s driving?” Clint grinned and shook Fury’s hand. “I take it I have some training to do?” Clint didn’t think they’d just send him off on a mission without any prep, not after Fury’s comments about turning a priest into a agent. .

Fury tapped a manilla folder on his desk. “We have two weeks to get you up to speed. I’ve got a packed schedule for you, Barton. First I’d like you to sign this non-disclosure agreement and some paperwork on contractor employment with SHIELD. You get the standard benefits, plus a generous payment to your heirs should you die in the line of duty.”

Clint took the offered folder. “I don’t have any heirs. Can it go to the church, instead?” He was under no illusions that this wasn’t dangerous. Clint didn’t fear death, not exactly, but he didn’t welcome it either.

Either way, he didn’t want any money going to Barney.

“That can be arranged.”

He looked over the documents, and frowned at the NDA. It would grant him the security clearance of a level 2 agent. Maybe once he rescued Phil, they could actually discuss his work. Clint scrawled his signature on both sets of paperwork. “I do need to call in and get someone to sub for me at the Youth Center while I’m gone.” It would be too much for his support staff to handle alone.

“No need,” Fury assured him. “Agent Sitwell will be taking your place.” He nodded at the agent who still stood by the door.

Sitwell choked. “Sir?”

“Your new assignment, Agent. You’ll find the appropriate info in your inbox. Come on, Sitwell, you telling me you can’t keep a bunch of teenagers in line?”

Clint bit his lip to keep from laughing. 

Sitwell grumbled something about hazard pay before leaving. Someone passed him in the door and a very familiar face walked in. Her red hair had been tamed, and makeup changed her face slightly, but it was unmistakably the same women who’d hijacked Clint in Rome.

“Excellent timing, Agent Romanov.” Fury said. “Barton, Agent Romanov will be your first instructor.”

“Father.” Her face was blank, though there was a hint of a smile around her lips. Perhaps she remembered giving him the shovel talk in a cafe in the early hours of dawn. 

She wore a black jumpsuit, a uniform like everyone else, but somehow on her, it fit better. It wasn’t just the cut of the outfit, it was the way she held herself. Before Clint might have met a shadow of Natasha Romanov, playing a role for his benefit. He doubted he’d get anything like her real self now, not when he knew she was a super spy.

“Sister,” Clint smiled in response. “I hear you have a few things you can teach me.”

Her eyes sparkled. “I can’t wait to get started.”

***

“So I hear you’re pretty good with a bow.”

Agent Romanov - “Call me, Natasha” - took them to the range first. There were other agents there, all honing their skills on various firearms. She’d handed him a set of muffling headphones, and then linked them so he could hear her speak.

Clint ran his hands over the composite bow he’d been provided with. It was exquisite, though his heart was truly with the recurve. “I teach archery at the Youth Center. I’m not bad.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Show me?”

“Well,” Clint said, taking aim, but never taking his eyes off of Agent Romanov as he started to draw arrows. “Hitting the center of the target is a bit boring, don’t you think?”

When she drew back the target, her initials were spelled out in tightly packed arrows. Clint couldn’t quite read the expression on her face, but that seemed par for the course with Natasha. “Your accuracy is decent, but do you think you could put an arrow through human flesh?”

Clint swallowed as her words soaked in. Thou shalt not kill, though he was too much of an adult not to consider the shades of gray that had distorted that commandment. Philosophical debates on killing for self defense aside, Clint had to consider the question - could he aim at another human being and let the arrow fly?

His shoulders sagged. “I don’t know if I could kill someone.” Not even to save Phil.

She looked thoughtful. “After lunch we’ll check out the anatomy diagrams. There are plenty of non-lethal spots to target.”

“Thank you for waiting until after lunch.”

“Not sure you’ll thank me after seeing what’s available in the cafeteria.”

***

After the range, Natasha took Clint to the gym to have his ass kicked by a woman named Melinda May. They told him they were just assessing his skills, and to not hold anything back. Clint took her at her word and used every dirty trick he’d learned in the circus and on the streets of New York.

It didn’t stop him from ending up flat on his back on the blue mat, staring up at the vaulted ceilings. 

May’s face appeared. “You’ll do. You’ve got some bad habits I can train out of you. Be here tomorrow at 6 am.”

Clint sat up and rubbed at his chin. That was going to leave a mark. “What is with you people and 6 am?”

“You have a problem with an early wakeup call? Would it help if I wore a nun’s outfit when I knocked on your door?”

He had to laugh. “I’ve known too many nuns who were not morning people.”

***

After the gym, Natasha escorted him to another office and said she’d return in an hour to pick him up for lunch. The woman behind that door reminded him of the sternest mother superior he’d ever met. Although honestly no nun would wear a catsuit quite that tight.

“AD Maria Hill,” she introduced herself with a quick handshake.

Clint didn’t recognize the name, but that didn’t mean Phil had never mentioned her. Sometimes the stories didn’t have names attached, and Phil usually limited them to the humorous or the mundane. This woman looked to take everything very seriously. Clint doubted there’d be any tale involving pranks involving her.

“Have a seat, Mr. Barton. We’ve got a lot to cover and not a lot of time. I hope you’re good at memorizing things.” She gestured to one of the chairs across from her desk.

Clint sat. “I was once dared to recite the Rituale Romanum after only one night of study. Uh - that’s the rite of exorcism - in Latin.” He clarified.

She gave him a look, though much like Natasha, Clint couldn’t decipher the emotion in her eyes. “So you’re saying you’re a person who likes a challenge.”

Clint pursed his lips. She meant to get him to rise to her bait. Clint kept his response mild. “No more than anyone else, I expect.”

There were two large binders on the desk and she pushed them both in his direction. “You are classified as a contractor. Therefore it’s not necessary for you to memorize all of SHIELD’s rules and regulations. I’ve collected what I believe is essential. The information in these binders might save your life.”

“I appreciate that.” Clint’s fingers itched to start paging through the documents.

“Phil Coulson means something to a lot of people here.”

“He means something to me, too.”

She held his gaze for a few moments more before nodding and taking her seat. “Let’s start with the basics. Turn to page ten.”

***

“I didn’t realize archery was taught in seminary.”

Clint sat across from Natasha in the SHIELD cafeteria. He had gotten a bowl of baked ziti and now poked at it, watching as it moved in a single gelatinous block. She hadn’t been kidding about the food here. “It’s not. I learned in the circus.”

He waited for her reaction, but could only be disappointed. Natasha didn’t seem to think his revelation was that big of a deal. Clint realized why. “You knew about that, didn’t you?”

She shrugged. “I was wondering if you’d admit to it.”

“Did - Did Phil tell you about that?” About me, Clint wanted to ask. His gut churned, and he wanted every scrap of information, every time Phil had mentioned him to his coworkers. 

“No.” She started to unwrap the muffin she’d gotten and then shred said muffin into tiny pieces. “You have to understand. Any individual who gets close to a SHIELD agent, especially one as high level as Coulson, gets their own file.”

“You read my file?”

“I compiled it.” There was a smug look of satisfaction on her face. “I’m not a nice person, Mr. Barton.”

It didn’t take Clint long to figure out that she wanted him pissed at her. He just couldn’t figure out why. “If you put together my file, then you know I spent my share of time not being very nice, either. And yet somehow I ended up serving God.”

“And you’re giving it all up for one man.” 

“That’s the sticking point for you?” Clint sat back and regarded her. It had been the same in Rome. Clint just couldn’t figure out if she didn’t think Phil was worth it, or if love itself wasn’t worth it. “Who is Phil to you?”

“He’s my handler,” she said. Clint purposely held her gaze without saying a word until she elaborated. “He brought me into SHIELD when he could have made a different call.”

She didn’t say anything more, and Clint realized suddenly that everything Natasha said was carefully calculated to get a response from him. What was he revealing to her with each word? Clint laughed and shook his head. “Talking to you is like playing chess with the Archbishop.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “You never played chess with the Archbishop.”

“Haven’t I?”

They both burst into giggles and Clint wondered if he’d made a friend.

***

After a very long day, Natasha escorted Clint to where he would stay for the next week. He wasn’t exactly surprised to see all of his stuff already unpacked and put away. Despite their recent rapport, Natasha was still damn scary.

He felt weariness settle over him like a cloak. Still, Clint knelt on the side of the bed and bowed his head, clasping his hands together. It hadn’t been easy to pray, not since Rome.

Is this the right thing to do? Clint was under no illusions. This was dangerous and insane. He might have to kill another person, Natasha’s non-lethal charts notwithstanding. He was also the only person who could do it. Even if he wasn’t desperately in love with Phil, Clint couldn’t let the man die when he could save him.

It used to be so easy to open up his heart and let God in. Sometimes Clint didn’t think he had any right to ask for this gift, not after being willing to throw it all away.

Natasha asked if Phil was worth it - worth throwing away a vocation he’d had since he was in his late teens. Clint should have told her - Phil was worth everything.

It didn’t mean giving up his trust in God, or in the faith he held so dear. Love only multiplied. It never subtracted.

***

Clint woke around midnight, the bed feeling empty and cold. He’d tossed his sheets at some point in his sleep. What had woken him? No nightmares haunted the edge of his vision. Clint was simply awake and alone.

He should feel Phil in this place. Phil spent so much time here, after all. A thought struck him, and Clint dressed quickly. He grabbed his level 2 keycard and left his quarters. The card gave him access to the directory, and he found a terminal in the main hallway. Coulson’s office was on the same floor as Fury’s.

Would he be able to get that far without an escort? 

The hallways weren’t empty, which should not have surprised Clint as he made his way through them. SHIELD was an international organization. They had to work on all time zones. Most people gave him a curious look before checking out the card he’d clipped to his shirt. He doubted he’d be able to go anywhere classified.

He breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator opened and no alarms sounded. Phil’s office was in the opposite direction from Fury’s. The corridor was silent and his footsteps sounded incredibly loud. Clint reached the right door and swallowed when he said the name plate with “Phil Coulson” stenciled in white letters. He traced it with his fingers.

The door had a biometric panel, and on a lark, Clint placed his palm over the scanner. It clicked open, and he stepped back in shock. Phil was the only one who could have set it to open at Clint’s touch, but how had he gotten Clint’s hand print?

“You sneaky son of a gun,” he murmured before pushing the door open and slipping inside. Unlike Fury’s bare office, Phil’s was filled to the brim with personal items. He had one tall bookcase prominently displaying Captain America memorabilia. Clint grinned as he walked past, noting that the objects didn’t have a speck of dust.

Someone must be cleaning in Phil’s absence. 

Clint circled Phil’s desk, neatly covered with office supplies, but not a piece of paperwork in the process of being filled out. He swallowed at the sight of the picture frames next to his pen cup. One of them held a picture of the two of them, both soaked from the dunk tank from the church’s charity carnival. Clint didn’t even know anyone had taken a photo.

“Oh, Phil.” He missed Phil with a pang, his entire body aching to talk to him. What would Phil think of Clint’s choices? He probably wouldn’t be too happy with Clint going willingly headfirst into danger.

The door opened and Clint jumped away from the desk, knowing he was caught out.

“Barton, get your ass to bed,” Fury sighed.

“Yes, sir.”


	3. Part 2

The weeks sped by way too quickly. By the end of his training Clint’s mind was spinning with policy, secret codes, combat moves, and how to work the modified bow they’d given him. Before he knew it he was donning the specially designed clerical costume with hidden compartments and heading to the airport to get on the Pope’s plane.

“Testing, one two three.” He tapped his ear.

“You don’t need to actually touch the comm piece.” Natasha sounded exasperated on the other end. “It’s always on.”

“What if I need to turn it off?”

“Don’t.”

He raised his hand and she snapped, “Don’t fiddle with the camera either. Everything is working fine.”

Clint let his hands fall to his sides and loosened his shoulders. He couldn’t stay this nervous. The entire mission depended on him being able to fake it.

_  
“Coulson was on a deep cover mission. Due to the political unrest, the local government did not want us to have a presence in their country. So he went in dark. His last update said he found something unbelievable. That was a month ago. Either he’s been cut off from communications or he’s been captured.”_

_“We’ve piggy-backed the Pope’s schedule. Everyplace he’s going to be visiting this week is near a SHIELD drop point, or someplace Coulson was investigating. You need to hit each location.”_

 

And somehow find and save Coulson. Clint hefted his backpack and nodded at the agent who walked him through security. Fury had been blunt in his briefing. Clint had all the information he could hold in his brain. Time to get this show on the road.

“This is MOST irregular.” The priest who’d come out to meet them was tall and slim. He held himself stiffly, giving Clint the impression of a twig. A wind strong enough would snap this man in half. 

“You stipulated we find you a priest, and we did.” Fury came out of nowhere and startled even Clint, who expected it.

He admitted it was a little satisfying to see the other priest jump. “I have my documentation in order,” Clint said mildly. Fury had taken care of that, temporarily getting Clint’s leave of absence revoked. 

Clint hadn’t even known that was possible.

“Clint Barton.” He figured he should introduce himself.

“Richard Martell.” The other priest looked over at Fury nervously. “I suppose you should come with me. We won’t have long before the plane is ready.”

“Barton,” Fury clamped his hand on Clint’s shoulder. “You got this.”

“Anyone tell you that you suck at giving pep talks, sir?”

Fury’s laughter followed Clint as he and Father Martell walked into the received lounge where the Pope waited.

Clint’s hands were sweaty. He let go of his duffel long enough to wipe them on his shirt. Of all the things to be nervous about, it was this initial meeting that concerned him the most. He was about to meet the Pope. 

Part of him wanted to jump up and down like a little kid. The other part wanted to run away and hide, maybe hang his head in shame. Clint knew he had unnatural desires, at least in terms of the Church. He thought he’d sorted that all out, not ashamed of his feelings for Phil in particular. Something inside him worried the Pope would look at him and just know.

Before the worry could take any further root, Martell brought him to a man sitting on a comfortable arm chair and reading a worn bible. Dressed simply, Clint wouldn’t have been able to pick out the Pope in a crowd. Martell leaned forward to whisper in his ear and the Pope turned to Clint with a smile.

Clint moved to kiss the man’s ring and said, “Your Holiness.”

His belly flip flopped and he swallowed against it. 

“Ah, so this is our spy.” The pope spoke in Spanish. “Call me Father, please.”

Clint sputtered as he straightened. “Yes, sir.”

He smiled, and it lit up his face and his eyes crinkled in delight. “We are about to pray for a safe journey. Join us.”

The other priests gathered around and everyone bowed their heads. Clint squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to find Phil safe and sound. Whatever happened between them then? That was up to God.

***

Brazil was a security nightmare. Clint had only been researching this kind of thing for a week and even he realized how out of their depth the local authorities were. Of course, who expected the Pope to get out of his armored car and walk among the people? The Vatican provided guards were at odds with the Brazilian police and all was chaos. It wasn’t even his job, and Clint was gritting his teeth and itching for his bow.

SHIELD had sent him in fully equipped - with a collapsible bow that passed through metal detectors, and enough ammo to fight off a small army. He had knives made out plastic that were ten times stronger than steel. Clint had asked to leave firearms behind. He couldn’t conceive of a gun ever being a non-lethal weapon, and due to his lack of experience with them, Fury had agreed.

Besides, Clint was here to get facts and follow up on leads. The odds of him going in full blast to rescue Phil Coulson were slim. This was Phil’s job. He should have been able to handle himself.

Clint took a deep breath and bowed his head. He had to face the fact that he might find news of Phil’s demise. He didn’t know if that would be worse than finding nothing at all.

“Rest easy, my son.” The Pope had returned to the car. “We are doing Christ’s work, going among the people.”

“Please take care, Father,” Father Martell said anxiously. “It’s not safe.”

“No,” Clint agreed. “It’s not.”

***

His first opportunity to do any kind of looking for Coulson happened after they escorted the Pope to a drug treatment center. His visit there was incredibly historic, and the frenzy allowed Clint to slip away.The guards were focused on keeping people away from the Pope, and not ensuring his entourage remained intact. It helped that the location of the safe house wasn’t far from the rehab center.

Clint was halfway there when it hit him that the location wasn’t a coincidence. This had been arranged. Shaking his head, he found the tenement building and ducked inside. He’d gotten looks from the people in the streets, but most respected his priest’s collar. 

“Natasha, you have visual?” The halls were decrepit, with peeling paint and trash along the street.

“Yes.” It was a relief to hear her voice. Even though she was miles away, Clint didn’t feel so alone on his mission. “The apartment is two doors to your left. The key I gave you should work.”

“What exactly am I looking for?” The door did seem heftier than the others in the fragile looking building. It creaked open to reveal a ransacked room.

“I don’t suppose you see any computer equipment intact in there?”

Clint moved in carefully, listening for the sounds of breathing, but it seemed the room was deserted - for now. “Unless it’s hidden under the used drug paraphernalia, then no.”

She said something in Russian, and Clint echoed the sentiment. He frowned at the room. “Did Coulson stay here?”

“If he needed to. It’s not meant to be a long term safehouse.”

Clint frowned as he scanned the room. “If he wanted to leave a message, and the computer equipment was stolen….”

“It would have to be something not likely to be looted.”

Clint pushed open a wooden door to reveal the tiny bathroom. “Toilet?” To his relief, the commode hadn’t been tampered with. Someone was probably squatting here and relied on it. He crouched down and was startled to see a string of numbers. 

“Coordinates,” Natasha explained. 

“To where?” Clint’s heart raced. Why would Phil leave these numbers behind?

“Running them now,” Natasha sounded breathless. “It’s in the middle of nowhere - deep in the rainforest.”

Well now that presented a problem. Clint left the bathroom and slammed the door. What were they supposed to do now?

Before he could stew too much, shouts from outside the window called his attention. The glass was broken, so the sounds coming from the alley below were clear. Thought Clint was fluent in Spanish, he had to work to decipher the Portuguese that they spoke here in Brazil. 

“Give me the money, kid,” was the loose translation. “Nobody gets hurt.”

Clint crept closer, but tried to angle himself so he wouldn’t be visible. His hands were assembling the bow without thought.

“Barton, what are you doing?” Natasha’s voice was heavy in his ear. 

“You lie,” a high pitched voice argued back. Now Clint could see clearly, and there were three thugs threatening a boy who couldn’t be any older than 12 or 13. Clint had an affinity for mouthy teens. He had to do something. Time to put his training into action.

“Barton? You have to walk away. You can’t be noticed.”

“No one will see me,” he assured her, then took aim and fired six arrows in quick succession. Each arrow hit the soft flesh of the arms of each of the attackers, pinning them to the wall behind them. They screamed and the kid turned and ran.

Time for Clint to do the same.

***

Fury almost had the countdown exactly to the second. But Romanov walked in seconds before he reached zero. Her face was determined, and he knew he was lucky to get that much emotion out of her.

“I cannot do this,” she tore out her earpiece, but only clenched it in her palm. “I was not meant to be a handler, especially not to some priest who thinks he’s a superhero.”

Fury fought to keep the smile off his face. “A superhero, eh? Sounds like someone Phil would love.”

She cursed in Russian, but Fury was used to that. “Coulson at least knows better. That heroics don’t work in real life.”

“And explain to me where Coulson is now?” Fury frowned. He had a suspicion that Phil had gotten in way over his head, but had refused to back down for whatever altruistic reason had burrowed into his head. “To think you were worried about Barton being too soft for the job.”

She didn’t say anything and Fury jumped on the tell. “You like him. That’s the problem.”

Romanov put the earpiece back in. “I just don’t like being on this side of the comms. Can we at least get in position in case an extraction is necessary?”

“You know that would kill our political maneuvering with Brazil.”

She just looked at him. Fury sighed. “Very well, Agent Romanov. We will relocate the helicarrier to the closest location.”

“Thank you, sir.”

***

Everyone was up in arms because the Pope wanted to travel to the rainforest to speak with natives who were threatened by the deforestation. They were in the living area of the hotel suite the priests were all sharing. Clint had two other priests in his room, but didn’t mind. He kept working on his breakfast as he watched the rest of the entourage try to convince the pope he was out of his mind.

Of course, he was the one who put the idea in the Pope’s ear. 

After they had prayed together last night, Clint had waited until the other priests had gone to their rooms. He stretched and yawned, and offered to escort the pope to his. 

Francis had looked up from his correspondence and nodded. “Has it gotten so late?”

“Yes, sir.” Though the pope had insisted on informality, Clint still tried to be respectful. He couldn’t help feeling a state of awe just being in the presence of the Bishop of Rome. Although Francis seemed bent on proving he was just a man, not seeming to realize his own remarkableness.

Clint helped him gather his papers. “The trip seems to be going very well.”

Francis laughed. “Not according to Martell.”

Martell had to deal with the security corps. Clint didn’t blame the other priest for being irritated. Still, he joined in with the pope’s laughter. “I’m happy to be here. It’s just a shame that…” he shook his head and trailed off.

“Yes?”

“Well, to be in Brazil and not see the rain forest. With the way it’s being destroyed, it might not be here soon.” Clint felt a bit guilty about his next few words. “Of course, it’s a tragedy for the people who live there as well.”

“The faithful are everywhere.” The pope looked thoughtful. “Tomorrow is scheduled as a rest day, is it not?”

“You have some obligations in the morning, sir, but the afternoon is free.”

“Perhaps you can make the arrangements, Father? I think it is an excellent idea.” Francis gathered up the books and papers that Clint had collection and slipped into his bedroom.

He left Clint feeling simultaneously triumphant and sick to his stomach. He’d just manipulated the Pope, using every technique that Natasha had taught him. He’d had no choice. How else would they manage to get out to the wilderness to search for Phil? 

“It’s very simple.” Francis sat at the desk in the sitting room, writing notes even as his aides argued amongst themselves. “There is a tour company willing to drive us out this afternoon. Arrangements have already been made. Decide who is attending.”

“But sir,” Martell bent to have the Pontiff’s ear. “This is much too risky!”

The pope raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s important for all people to be heard. Don’t you agree, father?”

Clint could hear Martell’s teeth grinding from across the room. Time to prepare for a visit to the rainforest.

***

Clint didn’t know it was possible to be so sweaty in so many places. And he was lucky, the clothes he wore had been designed by SHIELD to withstand the heat. The other priests were probably melted inside their collars. The rainforest chirped with life, just as loud as the colors were bright.

It was even easier to sneak away this time. All the attention was on the Pope and his safety. Clint left the van and slipped among the trees. None of the guards even noticed he’d gone. “Do you have my location?”

“You’re a bright red dot on the screen,” Natasha assured him. 

“Not purple?”

“You don’t get to choose your dot color.”

Clint bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Let’s make this quick. I need to be back with the group in two hours or get stranded out here.”

“Relax, padre. Just keep walking east. Coulson’s coordinates are about a half mile away. And keep your eyes open.”

Clint didn’t reply. Of course he would. They’d called him Hawkeye in the circus for a reason. 

He walked, noting that the brush wasn’t as thick here as it should be. It was almost as if this was a path, but that should be ridiculous, shouldn’t it? Their guide had been very specific about the limits of the roads into the rainforest. 

Clint couldn’t deny the beauty. There was something about being in communion with nature - and here, nature was so raw and primal - that came close to achieving the swell of silence in prayer. God’s presence was here so clearly. 

Then it became too silent. Clint stilled, knowing something was wrong when he didn’t hear a single insect or bird. He crouched and touched the earth, surprised to feel it vibrate beneath his fingers. “There’s something beneath the ground.”

“Clint, can you set up the portable scanner? It might give us an idea of what’s there.” 

They’d given him a small device, designed apparently to look like a cell phone. Clint took it and placed it on the ground before touching the only button. He stepped back as a holographic display shot outward. 

“Ok, so I’m not exactly an expert at reading these things…”

“You don’t have to be. I’ve got it.” Natasha’s voice was warm. “Clint, those trees right in front of you? Aren’t trees.”

Of course they weren’t. The bark was obviously paint, since Clint could see tiny slivers of metal beneath the brown. 

She didn’t have to repeat that. The ground beneath him started to rumble in earnest and Clint dived out of the way just as the earth fell out to reveal a hidden trapdoor that was slowly starting to rise. He ducked low, and watched as a multitude of vehicles - two helicopters, followed by three small jets and one larger transport plane - flew out of the hatch.

“Going in,” he whispered, before making a run for it. His heart thundered in his chest and he silently prayed for success.. 

Clint stumbled into some kind of launch port, the hatch closing behind him. His feet clattered on a metal floor, drawing the attention of two men dressed in green and silver uniforms. “Oh, crap.”

“Clint, get some cover.”

He should listen to Natasha. She was smart. Clint ducked behind the last remaining plane in the hangar. He crouched down and waited.

“Something fell through.” The voices of the guards carried easily through the mostly open room.

“Did you see what it was?”

“Sure as hell better not be another frog.”

“How is the frog worse than the Jaguar?” 

Clint held his breath. They hadn’t seen him. He pulled out his bow and set the quiver on his back. It was best to be prepared. 

Natasha’s voice whispered in his ear. “Hold position. Be patient. Don’t make your presence known unless you need to.”

Sure enough, the two guards got bored and started bickering about something else. Apparently they were there to open the door when the others eventually got back and they were annoyed about that. 

“Listen. We’re going to split them up and you’ll take them both out. You need to access the computer control station,” Natasha’s voice was incessant. 

“How?” Clint risked whispering. 

He followed her directives - firing two noisemaker arrows in opposite directions. When one of the guards came toward him, Clint stood quickly and clotheslined him, then put pressure on his neck until he passed out. By then the other guard had come back, and this fight took a little bit longer than Clint liked. 

“Sorry.” Clint struck the guy in the throat, as Natasha had taught him. Another hit and he was down and out as well.

“Stop apologizing and grab the flash drive I gave you.”

Clint pulled it out of his pocket. He looked over the control station with a critical eye, until he finally found a place to insert it. “Who designs computers for bad guys anyway? You think Microsoft has a contract?”

Natasha just huffed in his ear. “Good work. I’m in.”

“What are we dealing with here? A super secret base underground in the rain forest? That can’t be good.” The data started to spill onto the screens in front of him.

“It’s Hydra. Damn it, Barton, you’re not prepared for this.” She actually sounded worried.

“Just tell me,” he swallowed. “Can you find out what happened to Phil?”

He could hear the clicking of keys through the earpiece. Clint took a deep breath and started reciting a rosary in his head. The repetition of the prayer calmed him, as it always had. He felt warmth in his chest, and he knew Natasha would figure this out. They would find Phil.

She let out a little laugh. “He’s there, Clint. He’s alive.”

The warmth turned to joy. “Where?”

“I’m putting the map on that screen. We’re going to have to be careful. You’ve never done anything like this before, but if you listen to my directions, we’ll be able to save him and the others.”

“Others?”

***

Phil rested his head against the back of the cell. The voices of the other prisoners rose and fell in ebbs. They were frightened, he knew. No one understood why they were brought back to their cells in the middle of the work day. Phil had a good idea, and the thought scared him.

Hydra must have found what they were looking for.

His plan to get himself captured had gone a little too well. Now Phil knew exactly what Hydra was planning, but he had no way to get that information to SHIELD. His hope for extraction had died when he realized the GPS tracker embedded in his shoulderblade had been damaged when he’d been hurt during his capture.

So he’d been biding his time, secreting supplies in a hidden location, waiting for the moment he could act. Phil had befriended several of his fellow workers, hoping he’d be able to count on some help if he offered escape. Hydra had kidnapped men from all walks of life, including native people from the forest, migrant workers in the city, and tourists. He’d been taken as one of the latter, and Hydra had no idea of his true identity.

They’d been digging, deeper and deeper into the earth, tunneling underneath the rainforest. Phil hadn’t been at the front of the line today, but something had spooked their captors, who’d rounded all of the prisoners up and put them back into their cells. Something must have gone horribly wrong.

A voice shouting in Spanish outside the cell drew his attention. Phil stood with the other prisoners in the cell, ready to make his move. 

The door swung open and in stepped a man dressed in priest’s clothes and carrying a bow. For a moment Phil wondered if they’d been drugging his food. He could not being seeing what he was seeing.

“Clint?”

It was Clint. He turned and faced Phil, his face erupting in a brilliant grin. “Phil! Thank the Lord.” Clint stepped out of the way and yelled at the prisoners to run, motioning to the open door.

Phil stepped up and grabbed his arm. “Are you really here?” He felt warmth beneath his fingers. This was no dream or hallucination. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Clint never stopped smiling, even as he leaned forward and planted a kiss on Phil’s lips. “Happy to see you, too.”

The kiss momentarily shook him. Then Phil grasped Clint’s shoulders. “Seriously, Clint, how are you here?”

“SHIELD. Natasha says to tell you project civilian.”

Project civilian? That was a joke between him and Fury, but…”Natasha? You’re in contact with her?” Phil made a grabby motion and Clint handed him his earpiece. “Agent Romanov? Sitrep, please.”

“Nice to hear your voice, too, sir.” Natasha sounded amused, but then dove right into her report. “I’ve hacked into their computers. Exactly twenty minutes ago the log says they found the ‘item’s’ location, though it didn’t specific what said item was. Every operative was ordered to go collect it. Save for two guards in the hangar - two guards that Clint knocked out - the base is empty.”

The thought of Clint knocking out Hydra operatives had Phil’s blood run cold. “Later we’re going to have a long chat about that.” He looked over at Clint who was directing some of the newly freed prisoners in the hallway. They’d been training him, that was clear, but Phil didn’t understand why he was still wearing his priest clothing. It made him look like some weird comic book character - Super Priest? “Plan for extraction?”

She hesitated. “Barton has transport back to Rio. I hope you can tag along.”

“Natasha, tell me SHIELD didn’t send Clint into Brazil without fucking backup.”

“You know the political situation.” 

Phil was going to have a very long chat with Fury when this was done. “Fine. We’ll just have to blow the base on our own then.”

“Excuse me, we’re doing what exactly?” Clint came over. 

It was still so damn good to see him. Phil had to get them both out of this first, then he would worry about that kiss and what it meant. “We have to stop Hydra. We’re the only ones who can.”

Clint nodded, as if it were only a matter of course that he’d follow Phil into danger. Phil had never wanted to kiss him more. Not now, especially when Natasha was listening in. “What do we do?”

“Follow me.” Phil led him down the hall, stopping at a storage closet where he’d hidden his cache of stolen weapons in a hollow in the wall. “I got myself captured to find out what Hydra was doing out here.”

“Apparently that was a brilliant plan.” Clint looked like he was trying not to smile. 

“Not one of my best,” Phil admitted. “Although it did give me the ability to see firsthand what they were up to.” He knelt in front of his cache and pulled out two guns, several knives, and a grenade.

“No thanks,” Clint said when Phil tried to hand him one of the guns. “I’m fine with the bow.”

“His range scores are perfectly acceptable,” Natasha commented in his ear. “He really just prefers the archaic weaponry.” 

The thought of Clint on the range, training for this impossible mission, broke Phil’s heart just a bit. “All right. Follow me.”

Phil led them down the hallway. They ran into a few prisoners still fleeing the base. Clint gave them quick directions. But soon it was only Phil and Clint and the empty halls. The cargo elevator that had taken Phil to the worksite countless times filled him with a sense of dread. But they had no choice but to use it. 

“We used explosives to clear large areas. I’m hoping there’s enough to blow the entrance,” Phil explained as they made their descent.

“Entrance to what? I thought you were investigating weapons trafficking.”

Phil rubbed his forehead. It had started that way, but it had turned so so wrong. “They were trafficking people. They needed quick labor to do the digging.”

The elevator came to a stop and Phil led Clint out into the unearthed caves. Here much of the equipment still stood, waiting for workers who would never return. He needed to see what Hydra had found, and that meant going deep. 

They co-opted one of the golf carts the Hydra guards used, and rode it until the passage became too narrow. 

“I don’t like this at all,” Clint murmured. The narrow corridor suddenly widened, revealing a spacious cavern with a large pool of glass smooth water in the center. On the wall looked to be ancient writings.

Phil moved to it and frowned. “I can’t translate this.”

“Get Clint to move into view. He’s wearing a button cam,” Natasha said. “But my guess is that’s what Hydra was looking for. It’s what led them out of the base.”

“Clint, can you come here so Natasha can view the wall, please?” Phil stepped out of the way. He’d heard the Hydra agents talking about unleashing an ancient God, but knew that had to be ridiculous. Had they just stumbled on some rare archaeological find? 

Phil didn’t hear anything before it happened. One moment he was standing besides Clint, and the next he was whisked away, something hard looping around his chest and dragging him into the water before he could even reach for his borrowed guns.

“Phil!”

Water surrounded him. Phil tugged at the thing holding him down but it didn’t budge. He reached for the knife he’d strapped to his ankle and started to slice, but it bounced off the tentacle like it was rubber.

Maybe now he should panic. 

Abruptly, he heard a roar, and the thing let him go. Lungs straining for air, Phil kicked to the surface. That pool was much deeper than it looked. 

Clint stood on the shore, bow in hand as he aimed arrow after arrow into the writhing thing in the water. 

Phil had seen his share of weird shit, but this was stretching it. The creature had one giant eye, already speared by one of Clint’s arrows, in a distorted face, and what looked like dozens of tentacles arms. “Run. Out, let’s go!” Phil stumbled toward the entrance to the passage with Clint behind, firing off more arrows for cover. 

The earth rumbled beneath their feet. 

“We have to blow that entrance.” Phil shook water out of his ears. He pulled out the earpiece and realized it was busted. Damn it. He needed to trust that SHIELD would go after whatever Hydra had discovered on that cavern wall. 

“Okay, I really hope you know how to set dynamite, because that wasn’t a skill I learned in seminary.” Clint leaned over to catch his breath.

“Of course.” 

Phil knew that wouldn’t be enough. Still, he rigged the dynamite, and then led Clint back up through the base to the exit. Before they left, he got on one of the computer terminals, completely unlocked thanks to Natasha and enabled the self-destruct protocol (because, of course all Hydra bases had that feature. Phil really thought they’d been watching far too many bad spy movies.). 

“Let’s move.”

***

It was hard to believe that rescuing Phil and freeing the other hostages had taken less than an hour. But that’s what Clint’s watch told him. The filtered sunlight was too bright after being down in the dank underground. He could feel panic threaten to bubble up, but Clint fought it. All would be well, he had Phil by his side.

“Tell everyone to get out of the way, as far as they can,” Phil said. “This place is set to blow in ten minutes.”

Clint started to shout, and others took on the cry. There looked to be about fifty people who’d been captured and used by Hydra. Wait. “Phil, the guards?”

“Fuck. Move fast.”

They lost precious moments going back for the unconscious men. Apparently Clint was really skilled at knocking people out. Good to know.

Finally, though, finally, it was all over. Everyone was safe, the guards dragged a distance away, and the rumbling beneath their feet told him the explosives had gone off, and the base crumbled in on itself. 

Phil let out a little laugh. “I really hope Natasha was right about you having a ride?”

Clint started to dismantle his bow. Couldn’t go back to the van with it out. “Right. We have to catch up with the pope.”

It was satisfying to see Phil discomfited for once. “The pope? Seriously?”

“He’s a great guy, you’ll love him.”

“All the cute guys are either taken or popes.” There just might have been a hysterical edge to Phil’s voice there. 

Clint reached out and grabbed his arm. “No more late night viewings of Golden Girls for you.”

“I’m hoping to have something else to occupy my nights. Someone else in particular.”

Clint felt his face flush. “Okay, there are a lot of things we have to talk about.”

“You don’t say.”

***

By the time they met up with the pope and his entourage, the area was swarming with local authorities. The freed prisoners had found the van long before Clint and Phil managed to make their way back. He could tell the pope’s guards were even more unhappy, having to deal with so many unexpected people. Father Martell’s face went white when he spotted Clint.

At least he could tell the other priest it was over. Clint could leave them, and stop pretending he was worthy of being one of the pope’s advisors. Phil cleared his throat, and Clint turned, realizing Francis was coming their way.

The Pope greeted them both with a twinkle in his eye. It was mass chaos, but somehow he had a moment to shake Phil’s hand and welcome him. Phil wasn’t the only rescued prisoner to hitch a ride home on the van.

It was only much much later, when Clint was listening to the Pope being interviewed about the entire trip to Brazil, that he saw just how perceptive the holy father was. 

"If someone is gay and he searches for the Lord and has good will, who am I to judge?” he said. 

And Clint marveled at the possibilities.


	4. Epilogue

“Do you honestly think Fury is ever going to let you out of his sight again?” Clint stirred the pasta sauce, giving it one last taste before deciding it was done. He carried the pot over to the two heaping dishes of spaghetti and poured a generous amount on each. There were something in the way cooking set him in an almost meditative state, close enough to prayer. It reminded him that God was here too, in the small things that made up domestic life.

Phil tugged at his tie, pulling it off with a sigh. “I think making me work overtime every night is probably punishment for letting him worry. Although I do have a lot of paperwork to fill out.”

They’d been back from Brazil for only a week. It had been long enough for Clint to meet with his Bishop and formally request permanent leave from the priesthood. He had some time off before he started his new job with SHIELD - directing humanitarian work across the world.

Saving those people in Brazil had given him a taste of what it was like in Phil’s world. Clint realized he could make a difference in other ways, and that he had skills he could offer SHIELD that were unique to him. Instead of killing and spycraft, Clint would be handing out food and medical supplies. He’d still be serving God, just in a different way.

“I was worried, too. Should I punish you?” Clint grumbled, not realizing what he said until Phil laughed.

“Please.”

Clint fiddled with the salad, tossing it far longer than it deserved. “I’m not a virgin.” Well, that’s not where he wanted to start. 

They’d been going slow, since Phil’s return. Gentle kisses in front of the TV, holding hands when walking the street. Phil never pushed, and Clint was grateful. 

“Clint.” Phil left the table and came over to the kitchen island. Clint let himself be tugged away from the food. He leaned into Phil’s touch, as the other man cupped his hands around Clint’s face. “You left the priesthood for me. I still can’t...do you know how humbling that is? I won’t push you, won’t ask for more than you can give.”

“What if I want you to push?” Clint licked his lips. 

As if the words broke open something, Clint could feel the heat between them. He felt flushed and hot in ways that didn’t make sense.

Phil touched their foreheads together. “Dinner will keep, right? Come on.”

Clint had never been in Phil’s bedroom before. There was no reason, not before. But now it meant everything. He made quick inventory of the room: large bed - unmade - a pile of laundry in the corner, some Captain America prints on the walls, a filled bookcase, and a cardboard box of comics propped up against the wall. It was so very Phil.

Phil’s blue eyes were bright, and yet soft. He couldn’t keep his hands off of Clint, though he never kept them on one place for long. First he caressed Clint’s face, then his arms, before settling on his waist. 

They kissed, less feverishly than their couch make out sessions, this time a bit unsure. Clint’s heart raced, and he opened his mouth, letting Phil lick his lips. Anticipation pooled in his belly, and he could feel himself harden within his jeans. 

He wanted to touch Phil, for the first time see what it felt like skin to skin. Clint pulled at the dress shirt, freeing it from Phil’s pants. 

Phil pulled away as Clint started to undo each button. The sounds of their breathing filled the air. “Are you sure?”

Clint wanted to shout ‘yes’ and rip his clothes off, give in to the heat. But this was Phil and he owed Phil the truth. “Honestly? I’m a bit nervous.”

He’d had to fight this attraction for so long. It felt unreal even now that he’d chosen to give Phil everything. 

Phil smiled. “That’s understandable. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. I’m still surprised that you want me like this…”

“Seriously? Do you not know how hot you are?”

“I wasn’t fishing for compliments.” Phil slid his hand down Clint’s jaw, rubbing gently with his thumb. Clint leaned into the touch. “I mean that...I still can’t over that you gave up the priesthood for sex.”

“Not just sex. Love?” Clint hated that he made the last word a question. All their conversations since Brazil, and he still hadn’t asked Phil this.

“Clint. Of course, I…” Phil swallowed and kissed Clint again, just a peck, as if he couldn’t bear to be far for long. “I feel like you’ve made all the grand gestures here. You gave up the priesthood, you traveled halfway around the world to rescue me - not to mention training with Natasha. I want to show you that you mean everything to me.”

“Then marry me. Some day.” The words spilled out before Clint could take them back. He tried to pull away, alarmed at his sudden bluntess.

Phil only laughed and caught him around the waist. “All right.” 

“All right?” Clint found himself grasping at the loose ends of Phil’s shirt. 

“That would count as a grand gesture, wouldn’t it? Probably not as dramatic as hijacking the pope’s entourage.”

“You make me sound like a superspy, and that’s you.” Clint had gotten back to undoing the last of the buttons, revealing Phil’s bare chest. It took him a moment too long to do anything but stare. Phil was well-defined - nothing like a supermodel, but just perfect for his frame. He had so much strength hidden beneath his suits. 

“Clint,” Phil took each of Clint’s hands and held them for a moment. “I hope you know you are everything to me. Let me show you?”

Clint could only nod. He held his breath as Phil placed Clint’s hands on his own chest. He was given permission to touch, and he still wasn’t quite sure how. 

Phil tugged at Clint’s t-shirt, and they parted long enough for Clint to toss it off. Now they were both shirtless, and Clint wanted to know what it would feel like to be skin to skin. He looped his arms around Phil’s neck and brought him close for a kiss. They were so warm together, and the touch of Phil’s chest along his had him sparking with desire.

“More?” Phil asked, lightly touching the fly to Clint’s jeans. 

“Keep going.” He appreciated that Phil kept asking. It grounded him, and reminded him that this was Phil. He trusted Phil with this.

It almost happened too fast. Phil had Clint’s jeans undone, and they were down past his knees. Phil was stroking Clint through his underwear and the sensation was almost too much. Clint gasped and nearly jumped out of Phil’s hands.

“Easy.” Phil’s voice was so gentle. “Do you think it would be easier on the bed?”

“Maybe.” Clint kicked off his pants and sat on the bed, watching as Phil removed every stitch of his own clothing. If looking at Phil’s bare chest had moved him, then seeing him like this, with the hardness of his desire rising between his legs, was almost too much. 

Clint pressed the heel of his hand over his own dick. He’d denied himself for so long, it still felt wrong for him to touch himself like this. 

“Let me.” Phil knelt between Clint’s spread legs and tugged away the soft cotton boxers. He didn’t touch Clint, not yet, only looked his fill as if…

As if Clint were something precious.

The thought made tears sting his eyes, and Clint turned away, embarrassed. Phil rose up to cup his cheek and kiss him. There was no censure there. Phil accepted all of him. “Lay back on the bed. I want to worship you.”

“Something blasphemous about that.” Clint sounded raw as he spoke. He scooted back, until he was lying against Phil’s pillows. 

Phil got to his feet. For a moment he paused and his gaze trailed down Clint’s fully naked body. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

A flush rose all along Clint’s body. He could only remain still as Phil crawled onto the bed, his hands sliding up Clint’s legs. Slowly, ever so slowly, Phil pressed Clint’s thighs apart.

It was almost too much to take. The way Phil looked at him - as if he was something sacred and loved - combined with the way his hands felt on Clint made him want to sob. Sex had never felt like this before. His memories of it were dark and full of pain.

Phi would wash those memories away, baptize him anew with his body. 

“Can I touch you? Suck you? I want to know what you taste like.” Phil breathed the words, his mouth so close to Clint’s cock. 

Clint could only moan in response. He threw his head back against the pillows as deeds followed words, and Phil touched him with a callused hand. It was like a spark ignited, sending tendrils of pleasure throughout his body. 

“I won’t last,” he gasped out.

Phil merely smiled and bent, ever so slowly and trailed his tongue from root to tip. He kept his eyes on Clint’s face, and Clint found he couldn’t move. When Phil took him completely in his mouth, Clint gasped and fought to keep his eyes open. It felt so good, so warm and wet. Then Phil started to suck, and Clint had to grasp the sheets between his fingers to keep his composure.

A touch beneath his balls had him arching his back, deeper into Phil’s mouth. He would have apologized, but he needed to tell Phil he was close, so close, lord it felt so good, Clint soared high, ever so high and shouted as he came.

“Easy, easy, it’s all right.” Phil’s arms were around him and Clint realized he was trembling. 

“It was never like that,” he babbled, burying his face against Phil’s neck. He stroked down Phil’s chest, screwing up the courage to touch the heavy erection still pressed against his hip. Phil gasped when Clint made contact, so he kept going, liking the way Phil moved against him.

“Like that, a little harder, Jesus Christ, Clint.”

“Don’t swear,” Clint said. 

Phil let out a strangled laugh and pushed himself into Clint’s hands. He was slippery and hard, and it was so easy for Clint to curve his fingers and make Phil writhe. Remembering what Phil had done to him, Clint used his free hand to explore behind Phil’s cock, not surprised when Phil grasped him hard and then came into his hand.

“I didn’t mean to go that fast,” Phil kissed up Clint’s shoulder and nuzzled his jaw.

“And I did?” Clint closed his eyes and enjoyed the touching. “That was...it was never like that, before.”

“I just think you weren’t doing it right.” Phil nipped at his ears.

“I hadn’t found the right person,” Clint corrected. He knew they had to get up eventually. He didn’t want to stick to Phil. And there was still dinner, sitting out on the counter. But he only snuggled closer to Phil.

“I do love you.” Phil sounded so full of awe and joy.

Clint smiled.


End file.
